


Holiday Special

by DarthNickels



Series: The Good Doctor [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, Star Wars alternate universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ben Solo is in this but he's a baby (like a literal baby not as an insult), Dysfunctional Family, Family Drama, Gen, Gift Giving, Humor, I realized halfway through there' a bunch of new Aphra canon and she has a first name now and shit, Post-ROTJ AU, Ugly Sweaters, but WHOOPS this was too silly for me to do that much research, holiday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-19 02:10:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13113750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthNickels/pseuds/DarthNickels
Summary: For about a year Aphra has worked as the former Darth Vader's aide-de-camp, 24-hour caregiver, and partner in crime. Now she's tasked with the greatest challenge yet: successfully navigating a nice holiday dinner with his kids.





	Holiday Special

               “ _So_ ,” Aphra said, her voice lilting upwards as she dragged out the word. She rested her chin on her hands, fixing Anakin with her cheeriest I-am-going-to-tell-you-something-you’ll-hate expression.

               “So?” Anakin replied, unamused.

               “When are we going shopping?”

               Anakin blinked, looking up from his datapad and staring at her like he’d never heard those words arranged in that order. “What?”

               “It’s nearly Equinox,” Aphra said, impatiently. “What are you getting the twins?”

               Anakin covered his face and massaged his temples, exhaling slowly. After eighteen months of nonstop surgeries, treatments, and a strict medication regime he was looking less like a dead man walking—still chewed up and spit out, but in a more manageable way.

               “I haven’t purchased anything,” he finally answered.

               “So what are you _planning_ on purchasing?” Aphra asked, rolling her eyes.

               He fixed her with a long look. “Nothing.”

               Aphra hissed, sharply inhaling through her teeth. “Going to show up at family dinner empty-handed? Cold.”

               Anakin tilted his head. “I am not attending Luke and Leia’s Equinox celebration.”

               “What?! Why?”

               “The _Valiant_ is scheduled for a tour of the Hasmir System,” Anakin answered, matter-of-factly—but he didn’t quite meet her eyes.

               “Bullshit. You’re the one who set the schedule. Give your crew a holiday for once. Stop being Grand Admiral Killjoy.”

               Anakin set down his datapad, clearly in a Mood. “Aphra. I wasn’t even invited.”

               “Were you specifically forbidden from attending?”

               “No—“

               “That’s as good as an invitation as far as Leia’s concerned,” Aphra concluded, smugly.

               “Don’t be obtuse. Things are not as simple as that.”

               Aphra hopped up on the counter, shoving aside a collection of rattling pill bottles to make room. “Why not?”

               Anakin rubbed his face with his hand, clearly reluctant to make this conversation last any longer than it had to.

               “Come on,” Aphra chided, “we’re working on communicating this week. It’s in your folder for the next session.”

               Anakin glared at her, but relented: “Leia…won’t want me there.” Aphra folded her arms, clearly skeptical, and he huffed irritably.

               “It is her first holiday with the new baby,” he gritted out. “ _That_ is the memory she wants. Not her first holiday in my presence.”

               Oh. Hmm. Actually pretty likely, all things considered.

               “Did Leia _tell_ you that?” She asked, suspiciously.

               Anakin rolled his eyes. “No, but—“

               “Leia’s not one for hints. If she didn’t want you there you’d know,” Aphra reasoned. “Besides, she can’t just ban you from seeing Luke. You have as much right to be there as anyone.”

               Anakin looked at her blankly. “You know I don’t.”

               There was only so much Aphra could take. This represented the absolute _limit_. She was committed to her plan before she even finished talking it through:

               “I’ve heard enough of that,” she said, jumping off the couch. “Pity-parties are strictly prohibited during the Equinox season. I’m gonna go download catalogues for every department store in the greater Corusca Heights area, and then you and I are going to go through every single one until we find something extravagant yet tasteful for everyone you’re even kind of related to”

               Anakin folded his arms and glared. Aphra mirrored his stance, refusing to budge.

               “Come on, don’t be a child. Didn’t you try to give Luke the Galaxy? Too much too soon, that’s the problem. Maybe try something smaller this time, like a new tunic or something.”

               Anakin set his jaw and said nothing, making a move to get up out of his chair and leave the room.

               “OK, fine— that was tasteless, even for me,” Aphra said, raising her hands. “But really, anything you got would basically put him over the moon.”

“I doubt it,” Anakin scoffed.

“It would be his first real gift from his father,” Aphra said, her voice uncharacteristically soft. Anakin turned to face her, genuinely surprised to hear it. “I mean, you have to know how much that would mean to him, right?”

Anakin turned the idea over in his mind for a long moment, and Aphra was afraid the stubborn ass would hold out. Finally, he sighed, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers.

“Bring me your catalogues,” he rumbled. “Make this quick.”

“Yes sir!” Aphra said, with a mock salute. “Let Operation Crass Materialism _commence_!”

* * *

 

               A few hours later, and Aphra was starting to think her clever plan was actually pretty stupid. It had taken her twenty minutes of back-and-forth to convince Anakin that Baby Ben didn’t need his own solder-pen.

               “He’s six months old,” she said, her patience wearing thin.

               “He will not always be,” Anakin replied, in his isn’t-it-obvious-Aphra voice he only used when he wanted to do something stupid like this. “I used my solder-pen every day as a child.”

               Oh.

“Anakin,” Aphra said, lightly, “I don’t think Leia and Han are going to have Ben doing very much child labor.”

               Anakin seemed to consider this for a second. “Perhaps you are correct,” he rumbled, which was his go-to answer for saving face after another accidental foray into his bleak childhood.

               “When he’s older,” Aphra assured him, “Han will need all the help he can get keeping his deathtrap ship in one piece.”

               Anakin nodded in agreement. “For his fifth birthday, then.”

               _NO!_ Aphra thought, but smiled and let it go. “Maybe take a look at some of the clothes they have. Ben’s going to have outgrown the onesies he’s in now before the year’s over.”

               Anakin’s face twisted. “I’m hardly qualified to make those selections”

               “No one is,” Aphra shrugged. “Until they have to. When it comes to parenting, everyone starts at zero.”

               Anakin shot her a dark look, but luckily her commlink rang and she ducked out of the room, narrowly avoiding yet _another_ self-loathing tirade.

               “Luke,” she said, holding the holo in front of her in her hand. “Just who I wanted to talk to, actually.”

               “Oh?” Luke tilted his head, in a truly spooky mirror-image of his father. “I hope everything’s alright on your end?”

               “Oh yeah, things are going great. I just wanted to give you a heads-up that Anakin’s coming over for Equinox.”

               Luke pressed his lips together, like he was trying to keep himself from smiling and doing a bad job of it. “Aphra, were you going to _ask_ us first?”

               “Nope,” she replied, cheerily. “You know what they say about forgiveness and permission.”

               “Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s a great idea,” Luke said, wistfully. “I was going to come over and spend time with him after dinner, but having us all together in one place would be so wonderful.”

               “But?” Aphra prompted. Luke sighed.

               “But,” he continued, sadly, “Leia has some issues with it.”

               “Like what?”

               “Well, Han will be there,” Luke said, “and you know he and Father don’t really…get along.”

               Aphra considered. That was true—it would be a pretty grim holiday if she spent the better part of it prying her boss’s fingers from around his son-in-law’s neck. But Anakin was doing better every day, slowly but surely re-learning how to deal with obstacles in non-lethal ways. Besides, hadn’t tried to kill someone directly related to him in a _long_ time.

               “It’s not Equinox without some intra-family violence,” she quipped, but Luke grimaced—equal parts old wounds on his part and pity on her behalf, and she speedily moved on: “is that all?”

               Luke sighed, reluctant to answer: “Leia…Leia’s worried about Father around the baby, and in some ways I am too.”

               “Oh, come _on_ —“ Aphra started, but Luke held up his hands.

               “I know,” he said. “It’s not what you’re thinking.” Aphra folded his arms, waiting to hear out whatever bullshit explanation Luke had in mind.

               “Being around Father can be…difficult,” Luke said, delicately. “Not just because of—well, you know—“

               Aphra _did_ know, but sternly pretended not to.

               “—all of his—troubles—“ Luke went on, haltingly, “but in the Force its different—it can be like a cloud hanging around him. It can affect even trained Force users, and Ben—he’s so _sensitive_ to those things. He cries when Han and Leia are fighting, even if they’re outside the apartment…” Luke shrugged, helplessly.

               “Fair enough, we’ll just tell Anakin to keep a lid on it, and if he doesn’t he can’t come over to play,” Aphra said, breezily. “I don’t see what the issue is.”

               Luke exhaled. “That could work,” he said, grudgingly. “But the thing is…I’m not just worried about Father upsetting Ben.”

               Aphra’s eyebrows disappeared into her fringe. “You think Anakin can’t handle a baby?”

               Luke’s eyes flashed, and somehow he was staring _down_ at her in indignation. “You know perfectly well he may never recover from what he did in the Jedi Temple,” he snapped. “You know a child crying will take him right back to that moment, and _then_ what?”

               Aphra groaned, cover her face with her hands and massaging her temples. She did know—she’d seen it happen before, more times that she cared to admit. Her whole job description was mostly steering Anakin away from anything that could conceivably initiate his meltdown sequence. She’d gotten this far because all the other professionals, people who actually trained for years to provide full-time care to aging war criminals, had quit the first time they’d been thrown into a wall. She knew better than anyone what Anakin was capable of—and how they all lived on a knife’s edge, hoping nothing would prompt him to _use_ those capabilities.

                “I’m sorry,” Luke was saying, “I’m sorry it has to be this way—trust me, no one wishes it were different more than I do.” From anyone else, it would have sounded insincere, but Aphra genuinely believed it from Luke. “I’ll come over, right after dinner. We can have our own holiday—“

               “Let me talk to him,” Aphra blurted out. Luke raised an eyebrow.

               “I appreciate that, but maybe I should be the one to—“

               “No, let me talk to him _first_ ,” Aphra said, cutting him off. “Let’s see if we can’t reach some kind of understanding about how this is going to go down.”

               “You think it’s a good idea to try?” Luke asked. “Even if it hurts Ben and Anakin both?”

               “Your father’s a big boy,” Aphra said. “I don’t think you should write him off just yet.”

               Luke sighed. “Aphra,” he said, gently. “We appreciate all you do for Father—for us, really. Your dedication has made such a difference in our lives. But it’s not fair of me to ask you for a miracle. Things like this take time—I can’t just expect all that hurt to go away overnight—“

               “Overnight? Have _some_ faith in me, I don’t wait until the last minute to get ready for Equinox,” Aphra said, rolling her eyes. “Give me the week. I’ll keep you updated on how its going.”

               Luke looked like he was going to say something, to argue with her some more, but paused—then let out a long breath. “Well,” he said, with a little ghost of a smile. “If you really think you can make it happen, then I support you. Just for once, it would be nice to have a family dinner with all of us present.” He shot her a veiled, searching look. “I’m just sorry you have to put your holiday plans on hold for our sake.”

               “Oh, please,” Aphra said, waving a hand dismissively. “The only reason I stay at this gig is so I can invite myself to the one holiday in the party every in the _Galaxy_ wishes they were at. VIP seats to Skywalker Equinox—that’s exactly what I’m getting out of all of this. Besides, where else was I going to go?” Luke smiled at her, indulgently.

               “Alright. I’ll call Leia and let her know we need two more place settings. And Aphra?”

               “Yeah?”

               Luke offered her a solemn, two-fingered salute. “May the Force be with you.”

               Aphra rolled her eyes. _Skywalkers_. She wondered why she even put up with it.

               Luke’s image vanished, and she shoved her commlink back in her pocket. She looked out over the balcony, watching the distant traffic zip endlessly over the perpetual twilight of Corsucant at night. She shook herself, remembering the fucking impossible task she’d just signed herself up for, and went back inside.

               Anakin was still looking at the catalogues—he sat in the middle of multiple holographic images, various advertisements screaming about the superiority of their baby products. He leaned in close, hands folded in front of him, brow furrowed in intense concentration. She leaned against the doorframe, watching him pour over the ads as though they were battle schematics. It would have been funny—it was hysterical, actual, but it also made Aphra more than a little sad.

               “Any progress?” she asked, lightly.

               Anakin swiveled in his chair, turning to face her. “They all seem to be the same,” he said. “We will purchase them all.”

               Aphra took a slow breath in through her nose, exhaling through her mouth, desperately trying to keep herself composed. “I like your style, but that may be a _little_ much—Leia only has so much storage spacce.”                        

               Anakin considered, then nodded. “Reasonable. Very well, I will have to defer to your judgement for a selection.”

               “Don’t sell yourself short,” Aphra said, dragging a chair across the room so she could join him, “you’re definitely on the right track as far as gift-giving goes.” She scrolled idly through some of the images, not really _seeing_ them, her mind still on the fight she’d just won with Luke.

               “You spoke to my son,” Anakin said, quietly. Aphra winced. She _hated_ the Force.

               “Uh huh,” she said, trying to keep it casual. “I let him know we were coming.”

               She kept scrolling, pretending like she didn’t notice Anakin staring intently at her, refusing to meet his eyes. “And what did he say to that?”

               “That he was overjoyed because he loves you, his only father, etc—you know, the kind of stuff I have to hear every day from you two,” she answered, breezily. Anakin didn’t answer for a long moment.

               “Do you really think this is wise?” he asked.

               “You don’t keep me around because I’m wise,” she quipped. She turned, smiling with a confidence she didn’t quite feel. “Don’t worry about it so much. It’s gonna be great. We are going to absolutely _handle_ it.”

               Anakin tilted his head back. “We?”

               “Yeah, we. I’m not going to make you go in there without backup.” Anakin watched her with a carefully neutral expression—she could never read him when he was like this. Sometimes, it was like the mask was still there.

               “It’s going to be great,” she reassured him. “I know it.”

               “If that is what you believe,” Anakin said, with a weary skepticism.

               “I do.” They sat in silence for a long moment, Aphra sneaking at glances at Anakin, who had begun to take a series of careful notes—mostly things like “Leia wears red” and “Protection from elements, assault”, but they were thoughtful in his own way.

               He _could_ do this. He could do it, and she could make it happen.

               “Hey, Anakin?” she asked, softly. He turned, expectantly.

               “What do you know about babies?”

               He seemed taken aback by the question. “Any two fools can have a child. What is there to know?”

               Ah, _hell_. Aphra ran both hands through her hair, blowing out a long, slow breath

               “Maybe let’s go over some pointers before we go see Baby Ben…”  

* * *

 

               A week later, and Coruscant was covered in yellow suns and golden streamers, from the very lowest level of the undercity to the top of the perpetually-under-construction Senate Building. Aphra and Anakin stood outside the door to the Organa-Solo residence, and Anakin eyed the golden suns and wreath made from replicas of (now-extinct) sidereal trumpet blossoms with something like dread.

               “Lighten up, it’s gonna be great,” Aphra said, reassuringly. “You’re armed and ready. You’ve got a festive sweater on. The day is yours, Jedi Master.”

               “Don’t call me that in front of—“ Anakin started, but the door swung open and his mouth clapped shut like a nexu trap. Aphra winced—standing in the doorway wasn’t friendly, actually-wanting-to-see-them Luke, but rather hostile, maybe-already-a-few-drinks-in Han Solo.

               “Nice getup, _Darth_ ,” he drawled, taking a long sip of something poisonously green. The glass smoked faintly when he lowered it from his lips. “She pick that out for you?”

               She had. “Sun’s greetings to you, Han,” Aphra said, with all the cheer she could force down his throat. She never stopped grinning as she said: “I’m gonna ask you, in the spirit of the holiday, to _shut up_.”

               “You know this is my house?” Han asked, his voice deceptively flat. “I live here. I think I should get a say who comes and goes.”

               It had been less than thirty seconds and Aphra’s plan was running on fumes. She opened her mouth to let Han know just how little she cared about his _house_ or his _opinion_ , but Anakin beat her to it—

               “Solo,” he said, evenly. “We do not care for each other. It is unlikely we ever will.”

               Han eyed him skeptically. “You said it.”

               “Much of that is my doing,” Anakin went on, speaking as if every word required a heroic effort on his part. “I don’t care to discuss it tonight. I just…” he trailed off, gathering strength. “I would like…to request…an hour of your time…that I may see my grandson.” A vein stood out on Anakin’s forehead, and his hands were clenched into fists at his sides.

               “ _Please_.”

               Aphra didn’t know if she was proud, relieved, or terrified—terrified of these uncharted waters, where Anakin made reasonable requests of people he loathed.

               Han blinked.

               “Well I’ll be damned,” he said. He took another long sip. “It’s an Equinox miracle. Come on in, by all means,” he made a sweeping gesture with his arm: “you _lunatics_.” He stood back, allowing Aphra and Anakin to actually make it over the threshold.

               “Just play nice,” he admonished, looking Anakin right in the eye, before disappearing into the kitchen—presumably to refresh his drink.

               “Anakin,” Aphra whispered, laying a hand on his arm, “that was great—“ she stopped, heeding the look on his face.

               “Do not,” he grunted, “ever speak of that again—“

               “Father!”

               Luke rounded the corner, rosy-cheeked and beaming. He was wearing a necklace of stylized plastoid suns that blinked in a synchronized pattern, and Aphra couldn’t stop staring. It was the most awful, garish thing she’d ever seen.

               “Oh, isn’t it great?” he asked. “I bought it this morning. This is my first Equinox, you know.” He mistook her stunned silence for agreement, and warmly shook her hand. “It’s great to see you—thank you for being here.” He turned, his smile somehow increasing in wattage.

               “And look! You dressed for the occasion!”

               Anakin was torn between the small, secretive smile he only ever wore for Luke and the grimace he’d been making since Aphra bullied him into a wearing the sweater—light nerf-wool in a dark blue with gold starbursts, it was easily the least awful thing available on Coruscant right now (it even had a matching knit cap to protect his sensitive scalp and keep him from getting cold). Still, he clearly hated it, but the off-chance to make Luke happy won against Anakin’s dignity every time. Luke eased himself into a hug—approaching Anakin slowly, wrapping his arms around his father’s middle in a careful, practiced way. Anakin reciprocated, and as always, their hug lasted just a little longer than was normal, as if it could be their last—

               “Nice of you to show up.”

               Leia, naturally, looked like she’d stepped right out of a holonews reel—her hair elaborately pinned and braided, set with more sidereal trumpets and a spray of winterblossoms in true Last Daugher of Alderaan fashion; contrasting with her more practical but still dressy new-mom friendly attire. Aphra wasn’t sure Anakin noticed any of it, as his eyes wandered to the small, sleeping bundle wrapped securely to her chest.

               “Leia,” Anakin said, softly. “You are well.”

               “Sure am,” she replied, glibly. She put a hand against the back of Ben’s head unconsciously.

               “Sun’s blessings to you,” Aphra said, awkwardly, and Leia fixed her with a disapproving glare.

               “Tonight is the Alderaani People’s Feast of Survival,” she said, icily. “It marks the closing of Twelve-Nights.”

               “Oh,” Aphra said. “That’s….nice.”

               “Leia,” Luke put a hand on his sister’s arm, and they shared a long look of unspoked words. She huffed, but seemed to drop it.

               “There’s drinks and something to nibble on in the dining room,” she said, waving towards the open door. “Make yourself…”

She couldn’t quite bring herself to finish the sentiment, and decided on “Well, take some if you want” instead. She turned, and Luke and Anakin went to follow her, when Aphra suddenly remembered—

“Shit! Presents!” she jogged back to the front door, returning triumphantly with the glittery (yet tasteful!) bag she’d chosen to hold the treasure they’d spent _days_ of back-and-forth deciding on. Leia took one look at the bag and rolled her eyes skyward, sighing heavily.

“You can leave that in the living room. We’ll get to it,” she said, heavily. Luke, for his part, looked at the bag with pure, incandescent _joy_ — there were actual children less excited about the prospect of receiving an Equinox gift from their father. Aphra gripped the handle tight and prayed to whatever dark god would help people like her and Anakin that whatever secretive packages he’d been squirreling away in there were _good_.

“Appetizers in the dining room” turned out to be more or less the same thing as “dinner”, which suited Aphra just fine—Leia’s table was set with a series of large platters, and everyone could serve themselves. There were cuts of a tough-looking meat Luke was eagerly explaining to Anakin as bantha steak, and Aphra could guess from the way Anakin gently laid a hand on Luke’s shoulder that he was simultaneously filled with fatherly pride and fully aware of the subpar nature of the meat itself. There were Corellian redcheese puffs and fried grima buns, probably from Han, _definitely_ from the take-out containers she could see half-shoved in their trash compacter. Aphra helped herself to a generous portion of these.

                Leia’s contribution was probably the beautifully arranged tray of cut fruits and vegetables, but she didn’t fool Aphra for a second—from where she sat she could see their anxiety-riddled protocol droid slaving away in the kitchen, apron and all.

               Weirdly, there was also a selection of raw green kashyyk rolls, which Han was trying to offer to baby Ben. Ben, for the most part, seemed unconvinced by vegetables, a sentiment Aphra shared.

               The awkward tension between the pro-Anakin and anti-Anakin sides of the gathering was broken by the sound of Han’s holocomm chiming. “Everyone shut up!” he announced, excitedly. The holoprojector in the corner of the room sprang to life, creating an enormous wookiee’s head in the center of the Organa-Solo dining chamber.

               “Chewie!” Han shouted, raising his drink and sloshing it over his arm.

               “Look Ben!” Leia was saying, “wave to Chewie! Can you wave to Chewie?”

               Chewbacca roared—his dialect of shyrriwook was so _weird_ , Aphra could only make out every other word. Definitely something about Lifeday, though.

               “And a Lifeday full of blessings and prosperity to you, you mangy sack of fleas!” Han replied. “How’s the family?”

               The chorus of roars from off-screen was deafening. Chewbacca offered a neutral grunt.

               “That bad, huh?” Han grinned. “Yeah, it’s not picnic over here, you’re not missing out on much.” Out of the corner of her eye, Aphra noticed Anakin had sidled into a corner where it be impossible for him to be caught on holocam—probably for the best. He wasn’t _especially_ popular on Kashyyyk.

               “What?” Han was asking. “Really? Me?” He put a hand over his heart, in what Aphra recognized as one of those beautiful, rare moments of sincerity that comes with inhibitions lowered by alcohol. “It’s an honor, fuzzball. OK—“ he cleared his throat, and raised his hands.

               “I’m uh, thankful for my co-pilot,” Han said. “He’s a great shot and— and an even better friend…”

               Han rambled on, in what Aphra thought was a tortuously long toast invoking “spirits of the forest” (a concept Aphra guessed he only half-understood), but the wookiees seemed to be eating up. By the end of it Han Solo, Number One Most Wanted of the Outer Rim, seemed dangerously close to a tearful “I love you, Chewie”, which was her cue to pour herself a glass of jewel-tone wine and brace herself.

Anakin watched her enviously.

               “…and uh, the blessings of Lifeday to us all, I guess,” Han finished hastily. The wookiees let out a deafening roar of approval, and Ben squirmed unhappily at the noise. Aphra saw Anakin tense, and locked eyes with them.

               _Keep a lid on it_ , she thought, as loudly as she could. _We worked on this_.

               She saw Anakin tense further—then take a long, slow breath, unclenching his fists, the tightness easing in his shoulders. She nodded.

               _I’m so good at my job_ , she thought, and rewarding herself with a deep drink from Leia’s very expensive glassware.

               Leia, meanwhile, seemed to agree that Han’s speech was running long. “Sweetheart,” she asked, amused. “Am I ever going to get to say hello?”

               “Oh, right—Happy Lifeday, Chewie, let’s do this at your place next year, OK?“ Han handed over the commlink to her, and Chewie roared in excitement.

               “I know!” Leia was saying, laughing. “He’s so big!” She bounced Ben, who was trying to grab the hologram with his clumsy, chubby fingers.

“It’s so good to see you…”

               Han wandered over to the drink table, pouring himself yet another two fingers. Aphra raised an eyebrow.

               “You’re hitting that stuff kind of hard for a family dinner.”

               Han smirked. “At least I’m off the clock.”

               “It’s Equinox!” Aphra said, “I think I can have one glass.”

               “Whatever you wanna tell yourself, sister.” Han said. “If I had your job, I’d drink too—but then, you’re actually into that Imp stuff.”

               Aphra rolled her eyes, refusing to rise to the bait. “Didn’t know you observed Lifeday. Raised by wookiees?”

               “Shut up, Imp-lover,” Han jabbed a finger at her, “these are my deeply-held spiritual beliefs.” Aphra looked unconvinced, and Han relented slightly. “Yeah, its just as nonsense as anything is, but Chewie’s been a friend to me longer than anyone. So yeah—they are my family. What about it?”

               Aphra shrugged. “Nothing,” she said. “I think that’s nice.”

               Han shot her a long, searching look. “So what about you? What’s your damage?”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Nobody willingly spends the holidays with Darth Vader unless they’ve got some damage.” Han explained. Aphra shrugged.

“It’s not like I had anywhere else to go,” she said, trying to sound casual. “And I never say no to free food.”

There was a silence between them, Aphra pretending to listen to Leia proudly listing Ben’s milestones while also pretending she didn’t notice Han watching her with an unreadable expression.

“The kid appreciates what you do,” Han said, his voice low. “Leia too, I think—not right now, she doesn’t appreciate _this_ , but being able to live her life without the obligation—“ here he nodded towards Anakin “—hanging over her all the time is a relief. So thanks, I guess.”

Aphra raised her glass. “Glad I could take care of your family drama for you.” Han rolled his eyes.

“Take it or leave it, that’s how it is,” he said, finally. He wandered back over to the main table—

“Hey! Who ate all the grima buns?”

Luke and Leia were sharing the holocomm now, excitedly talking about their plans going forward in the new year, and how they’d like to get Kashyyk involved as they moved forward in fixing the Galaxy. Anakin, who had spent the better part of the past twenty-five years _breaking_ said Galaxy, stayed withdrawn in his corner, and Aphra went to his side.

“How are you holding up?”

He shrugged. “Everything has transpired as you said.”

He always made things sound so much more dramatic than they actually were. “Alright. We’ll finish dinner, and see how you feel then, OK?”

He nodded, and Aphra lead him to the dinner table, pulling out his chair and offering a hand for balance as he sat. She always tried to be subtle about things like that—she knew how frustrating it was that decades after his injuries, he still had trouble with things like getting in and out of chairs—but she caught Han watching her with another one of those unreadable looks.

She stuck her tongue out at him.

               “Bye-bye Chewie!” Leia was saying, taking Ben’s small hand in hers and waving it at the holocomm. “Say bye-bye, Ben!” Ben gurgled happily, and Chewie solemnly waved a huge furry paw before signing off. She offered the holo back to Han, then offered him Ben. Han put down his drink to accept, letting out the most disgusting stream of baby-babble that Aphra had ever heard.

               _You got soft, Solo_ , she thought, disgustedly. She watched Han carefully arrange Ben in his lap, gently trying to keep him from wrapping his stubbly little fingers around Han’s steak knife, and she knew that Anakin was watching, too.

* * *

 

               Dinner itself went by—more or less— without a hitch. Aphra almost forgot to give Anakin his digestive enzymes, so that was a near-disaster, and she knew he _definitely_ didn’t appreciate the awkward small-talk that followed as she shook the pills into his metal hand and everyone watched him dry-swallow them in uncomfortable silence. But Luke came through, honoring his commitment to keep the party going, and soon enough they were chatting amiably while Anakin picked at his food and pretended like he wasn’t hanging on every word.

They made it all the way to caf and golden-iced sun cookies discussing benign things like rebel gossip, senate gossip, smuggler gossip, etc. Lando Calrissian was doing well, spending Equinox alone with his fiancée in a way that made Aphra suspect they were observing each other more than the astronomical event. Riekeen was getting Mon Mothma a nek pup now that she wasn’t living on the run in a spaceship anymore.

               Aphra almost hoped for some chaos soon, she could only politely nod for so long.  

“Well, Luke,” Han asked around a mouthful of cookie. “How’s the big city holiday treating you so far?”

Luke smiled. “Very well, I think,” he said. “There’s not much to celebrate seasonally on Tatooine. Mostly just birthdays, anniversaries—“

“Milestones of survival,” Anakin muttered. Leia pressed her lips together and said nothing, but Luke leaned in eagerly.

“Yeah?” he pressed. Aphra’s heart sank. He wanted so bad for Anakin to be able to pass something on to him other than misery and messes to fix.

“There is little to celebrate about continuing to survive on Tatooine,” Anakin bit out. “The only gift that planet gives you is its shrinking appearance as you prepare to make the jump to hyperspace and leave it forever.”

Han laughed, and Leia glared at him. “What? He’s not wrong.”

               “It wasn’t all bad,” Luke said, wistfully. “Aunt Beru used to take us into Anchorhead for Founder’s Day. We could see all the other families at the fair…”

               Anakin looked deeply skeptical, and opened his mouth to say something along those lines, but Aphra jabbed him in the side with her elbow and shot him a do-not-ruin-this-for-him look. Anakin paused, but seemed to get her drift.

               “I am…glad for that,” he managed to force out. “When I last spoke to Owen and Beru they seemed….well.”

               “Really? When was that?”

               “Many years before you were born,” Anakin said, with a faraway look. “They were fond of your mother, which proved their good sense.”

               “Oh?” Leia looked mildly interested for the first time. “I’ve never heard that story before.”

               Aphra winced—she had. It involved Anakin cradling his mother’s dead body and a subsequent village massacre. As of yet that knowledge hadn’t left the confines of Anakin’s weekly counseling sessions—mostly because he tended to break things when he told it.

               “We could talk about it in the living room,” Aphra said, carefully, not intending to talk about it at all: “While we open _presents_.”

               Han stood, grateful for being spared what he assumed was a long, dry story about in-laws he’d never met and didn’t really care about. “Sounds good to me,” he said. “What about you, Ben?” Ben waved his fists and giggled.

               Luke’s disappointment was obvious, but he clearly trusted Aphra’s judgement—plus, the advent of another holiday tradition was more than enough to tide him over. He sat next to Leia on the couch, fidgeting with childish eagerness, while Leia watched Aphra, clearly unimpressed. Han sat on the floor with Ben, occasionally lifting him up and making starfighter noises with his mouth while Ben shrieked with glee.

               “Alright,” Aphra said, digging through the bag and pretending not to be nervous. “Who’s first, Anakin?” Anakin made a small, indecisive gesture, as if to say _I don’t know, this was your brilliant plan, not mine_.  Naturally, she would have to do everything herself.

               “Alright, let’s start with Han,” she said, handing him a undecorated white flimsi-envelope. He took it skeptically, balancing Ben on his knee so he could slide it open with his thumb. Inside was a generous portion of wafer-thin New Republic credits.

               “You know what?” Han said, waving the envelope. “This is actually great. Thanks, Anakin—best Lifeday ever. I’ll put these to good use.”

               “Spend them on something other than cards and drink,” Anakin sniped. Han covered Ben’s ears theatrically.

               “Hey! Not in front of the kid! As far as he knows it’s for his education—“

               “Moving on!” Aphra announced quickly, resisting the urge to speculate that His Education was the name of a Corellian racing grek scheduled for a fixed race. “These are for Ben—Leia, maybe you’d like to open them on his behalf?”

               Leia accepted the box graciously, removing the ribbon and handing it to Luke, who smoothed it, folded it, and carefully set it aside. She held up the first item—a child’s small tunic, mean for a more formal occasion but unworldly in its softness and washable in most conventional rigs. She held it up, staring in disbelief, then looked at Anakin with naked suspicion.

               The whole room held its breath—

               “This is _nice_ ,” Leia said, he words dripping with distrust. “How did _you_ know I needed something like this for him?”

               They turned to Anakin, who in turn nodded to Aphra. “I heeded the advice of one better-suited to these matters than I.”

               “He makes it sound so formal,” Aphra said. “I heard this is all Sekkan royalty buys for their kids, and figured you could do better than them.”

               Leia studied her face for a long moment, as if looking for some kind of trap or trick behind the gift. Unable to find one, she relented. “Well, it will be useful,” she said, carefully folding the garment and setting it next to her. “It’s…appreciated.”

               It was hardly something out of a sappy holonet Equinox special, but Anakin’s expression softened into something like a smile. Aphra chalked it up as a win.

               The went through the rest of the box—some more clothes, a velvety-soft blanket trimmed with shimmersilk, a pair of shoes so small they fit into the palm of Leia’s hand (“somebody will be walking soon!” Leia cooed at Ben, and Han went pale at the idea). Each item was carefully replaced back in the box, each one earned Anakin an unreadable (but not overtly hostile) look from Leia.

               “Alright, Luke, your turn,” Aphra said, once Ben’s box was empty. “I hope you don’t mind, but you’re going to have to share this with your sister…”

               “Perfect!” Luke said, beaming. “What is it?”

               “I uh,” she stumbled, handing the fine-carved wooden box over to him. “I actually have no idea.”

               And she didn’t—after days of back and forth over what to get this twins, Anakin had disappeared into his room and made a number of untraceable calls to what Aphra had a sneaking suspicion where former associates from his galactic terror days. This was, of course, strictly forbidden under his treatment program, to say nothing of the treaties he’d signed and the conditions of his amnesty— but Aphra wasn’t a _snitch_ , so when a mysterious box arrived at their doorstep and Anakin refused to let her peak inside, she shrugged her shoulders and hoped the Force could sort that one out.

               For the cost of her silence, the contents of that box had better be good. Luke lifted the box slowly, and Aphra thought the anticipation might actually kill her.

               “Oh, come ON!” Leia shouted, her expression hardening into one of fury. She removed a sleek, silvery blaster, shaking it angrily at Anakin. “With a _child_ in the house? What is _wrong_ with you—?”

               “Come on, Anakin” Aphra muttered, covering her face with her hands.

               “You misunderstand—” Anakin started, while Han crouched over Ben.

               “Leia, sweetheart, maybe don’t swing that thing around until we know if it’s hot—“

               “It’s not,” Anakin said, firmly. “That blaster hasn’t been fired in over twenty years.” Leia handed the blaster to Luke, who accepted it and began turning it over his hands, puzzled. She crossed her arms and waited for Anakin’s explanation.

               “It’s not the weapon I want you to have,” Anakin started, slowly. He reached down and rubbed the edge of his sweater between two durasteel fingers, threatening to unravel it. “It…belonged to someone very dear to me.”

               Leia raised an eyebrow, skeptically, and then her face went slack with realization. “You mean—?”

               “This belonged to our _mother_?” Luke asked, excitedly. Anakin nodded.

               “Everything did,” he said, gesturing to the box. “These are her effects.”

               Luke’s mouth fell open, and he reverently ran a finger over the edge of the blaster. For a moment, Aphra was afraid he’d cry.

               “How did you get all this?” Leia asked, dumbfounded.

               “The Naberries surrendered it to me years ago in exchange for certain…privileges,” Anakin rumbled, delicately sidestepping the question of just how he’d gotten them to _surrender_. Leia pinched the bridge of her nose.

               “You stole this from our cousins?”

               “It was never _theirs_ ,” Anakin replied, hotly. “It always belonged to you two.”

               “You didn’t know we were alive!”

               “Leia,” Luke interrupted, excitedly. “Close your eyes.”

               She turned to him, supremely annoyed, but angrily sighed and did as he asked. Luke withdrew a beautiful comb from the box—brilliant neverrust silver, set with a silk replica of a Nubian lily, dangling silver ornaments and tiny sparkling stones. Luke gently turned Leia’s chin and slid the comb in her braids, between the flowers—as if the spot had been there all along, waiting to be finished. Luke withdrew a small, antique mercury-mirror compact out of the box and offered it to Leia.

               “Now look,”

               Leia opened her eyes, looking at the proffered compact as though Luke was offering her a used tissue. She took it, reluctantly, and turned her head to admire his handiwork, reaching with hesitant fingers to brush the dangling silver ornaments—and for a moment, she didn’t say anything.

               “It looks great on you,” Han said, appreciatively. “Isn’t that right, Ben? Look how beautiful your mama is.”

               “You are so much like her,” Anakin said, distantly. He had a faraway look Aphra had never seen before. “She would be glad to see you wear it.”

               Leia looked up at him, her expression searching—as if she could divine some kind of meaning out of all of this, something that would help her find a footing in this bizarre exchange.

               “Well,” she sighed. “Sorry Luke. I guess this one’s mine.”

               “Then I get the next comb we find,” Luke joked, good-naturedly. “Something that matches my eyes, I hope.”

               They went through the rest of the box with a mixture of reverence and glee—there was more jewelry, an antique-style ink pen for writing on flimsy made of rich hardwood and chased gold, a stiletto knife in an uncharacteristically plain sheath, yet another blaster (“Anakin!” “I had forgotten the ankle holster”), a handful of datachips labeled with the dates and subjects of the speeches they contained—and still more. Each new discovery was like a revelation for the twins, each careful question they asked of Anakin was met with a terse, cryptic answer—but they were answers nonetheless.

               Luke and Leia were fully absorbed in discovering their mother’s things, and even Han had some very admiring comments about the quality of the late Padme Amidala’s personal armory—no one took much notice when Ben, who was clearly bored by the gift-giving portion of the evening now that it was no longer about him, clawed his way out of Han’s lap and began to crawl—nowhere in particular at first, short journeys to check up on his surroundings—until he noticed Anakin—

               And made a beeline straight towards him.

               “Leia,” Anakin said, lightly. “Leia, your child—“

               “Hang on, sport,” Aphra said, moving into position to intercept. She leaned down and scooped Ben up easily, grabbing him right under his armpits and leaning him in the crook of your arm. Ben shrieked, and Anakin tensed, but he quickly settled back into chatting to himself in his own language of half-syllables, reaching for Anakin expectantly.

               “I think he wants to see Grandpa!” Aphra said, brightly. Anakin looked stricken. Leia looked similarly unhappy, but Luke put a hand on her arm and they shared a long moment of silent communication.

               Leia caved.

               “Fine,” she said, wearily. “Make sure he does it right.”

               Aphra stepped towards Anakin, and he took a half-step  back, but she was much, much more persistent than him. “Hold out your arms,” she instructed. “Get ready to support his fat head—“

               “Hey!” Han protested.

               “—just like that,” Aphra was saying, “take it easy, he’s a baby, not a bomb—“

               Anakin looked down at the child in his arms, tense, clearly uncomfortable. Ben squirmed, letting out a harsh squall, and Aphra wondered if she had well and truly fucked everything up _forever_ —

               Something in Anakin eased, and he smiled. “Hello, little one,” he said, reaching out and laying a gleaming prosthetic finger on Ben’s nose. “Hello, little Ben.”

               Ben wrapped his tiny hands around Anakin’s finger and laughed.

               The spell was broken—Luke got up from the couch and went to Anakin’s side, joining him in cooing over the baby. Han carefully gathered up the gifts, making sure the place the box with Padme’s blasters on the very highest shelf in their apartment, until they could find a place secure enough to thwart a curious, Force-sensitive infant.

               Leia, for her part, just watched—close enough that she could swoop in at the slightest sign of something going wrong, but not so close as to be part of the moment Luke and Anakin were having. Aphra admired her, really—since she was a teenager, she’d made Darth Vader come to her on her own terms.

In hindsight, more people should have guessed they were related.

               Ben, for his part, seemed to have had enough of the family gathering—after about ten minutes of being fussed over he began to fidget, wriggling in Anakin’s grasp. His face screwed up, and Anakin looked up at Aphra, anticipating the storm.

               “What is the matter with him?”

               “Remember those holo classes we took?” she asked seriously. “What do _you_ think is wrong with him?” Anakin looked at her blankly. “Come on, I know you know. You can cheat with the Force.”

               “He’s…tired,” Anakin said. He turned to Leia, holding Ben out for her to take—but she stayed on the couch, staring him down.

               “So put him down,” she said, simply. “His crib is in our room, down the hall.” She jerked her head, indicating the direction. “Go on, before he really gets going.”

               Anakin stared at her, baffled. Then, slowly, he shifted, resting Ben’s head against his shoulder and giving him a little bounce.

               “The hour grows late,” he rumbled, gently “The night is dark.” He made his way carefully, each step taken with a kind of halting caution down the hallway Leia had indicated. Aphra put her face in her hand—they _had_ to work on Anakin’s baby-talk.

               “I’ll go with him,” Luke said, “I want to see what you’ve done with the place since I’ve been away.” He turned to Aphra and winked, before following Anakin down the hall.

               “You know, Father,” she heard him say, just before he turned the last corner, “you’re always surprising me…”

               Aphra was alone with Leia—and the energy in the room was _supremely_ awkward. She made a move to follow Anakin and Luke, but was stopped—

               “Wait,” Leia said. “I wanted to apologize to you.” Aphra hadn’t been expecting to hear that.

               “Me?”

               “Yes,” Leia replied, impatiently. “I will never get along with Anakin, but it’s not fair of me to treat you poorly because of my past with him. After all, we do _employ_ you to do this specific job.”

               Aphra shrugged. “It’s fine. You have baggage, I get that.” Leia looked at her in offended disbelief, and Aphra raised her hands.

               “No, I don’t mean like that—I have baggage, you have baggage—who in the Galaxy doesn’t, these days?”

               “Who, indeed,” Leia remarked, flatly. There was another long silence between them, and Aphra assumed it was over—

               “I just have to ask,” Leia said, leaning forward. “Why do this?” she gestured, vaguely. “This job—this night. Why work so hard to make this _happen_?”

               Aphra shifted, ill at ease with the idea of open and honest communication. “I guess—“ she shrugged, uncomfortably. “Not every man who fathers a child sticks around to try and make it work. Not every absent parent comes back to their children’s life to try and make it right. Anakin tries—he tries _really hard_. I know—“ she held up her hands. “I know, trust me, I know. But…he wants to be better. It’s a good-faith effort. Surely that deserves a little credit?”

               Leia raised an eyebrow at her. “I don’t think so. I expect more from Han than just ‘sticking around’.”

               Aphra shrugged. “Yeah, I set that bar pretty low, didn’t I? I don’t do this job because I’ve got a lot of standards.”

               This answer seemed to mollify Leia. “I can’t believe I’m saying this,” she said. “But you two together seems to actually work. It seems more like a curse than a blessing, but congratulations, I suppose.” She looked at Aphra, and her expression softened. “And thank you. This is the most tolerable Anakin’s ever been.”

               Leia stood, stretching, when something on the end table caught her eye. “I can’t _believe_ Luke,” she said, exasperated. “After all he went through getting us to agree to it, he forgot to give Anakin his gift.” She picked up the small holoprojector from the end table, and handed it to Aphra.

               “Make sure he gets this, will you?” she said, and swept out of the room.

               For years now, Aphra had kept Anakin’s secrets—at first because it meant she was a part of something bigger than herself, then out of an obligation to a man drowning in those secrets. A side effect of both was that she was very, very nosy. She immediately thumbed the holoprojector to life—and smiled.

               It was a family portrait—Luke, Leia, Han and baby Ben, stiffly and carefully arranged in the best clothes—Luke with a lightsaber on his hip, Han with a medal from the Endor mission pinned prominently on his chest, and Leia in the official robes of the New Republic Senate. The clicked the next button, and was met with what was clearly and outtake—Leia and Luke laughing at something, Han opening his mouth to argue with them, Ben reaching up, about to pull his mother’s carefully-braided hair out of place. There they were, Anakin’s small, hard-won family, a moment in time captured in the palm of her hand.

               He was going to love it.

               Aphra loved it too.

               She looked up and saw Luke enter through the doorway. “Oh!” he said. “I can’t believe I forgot.” Aphra offered the projector to him.

               “Want to go give it to him?”

               Luke smiled, shaking his head. “I think that’s going to have to wait,” he said, smiling. “Come look.”

               Han and Leia’s bedroom was as messy as you could expect from two new parents—their bed unmade, toys everywhere, a wardrobe disaster visible from behind a half-open closet door. There was a crib, and next to that an old, overstuffed armchair, where one parent could sit up with Ben while the other got up on much-needed sleep.

               That, naturally, is where Anakin ended up—Ben, snoring softly with his face pressed into Anakin’s shoulder, and Anakin with his head lolled back and he mouth slack—fast asleep.

               It was the single funniest thing Aphra had ever seen in her life.

               “A very happy Equinox to _me_ ,” she said, delightedly, flicking her holocomm to cam mode and carefully setting up her shot.

               And it was.

Mission accomplished.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**

If, years later, said incriminating holo was suddenly leaked to the media due to a deeply unfortunate lapse in judgement involving alcohol and a bar bet, that could hardly be considered Aphra’s fault, right? We all do things we regret, some of us blow up planets and some of us make regrettable choices when we’re blackout and that’s hardly a thing to get all bent out of shape about, _Anakin_ , besides everyone loves that picture and—


End file.
